Chapter Eight: Rescuing the Princess

Wine had brought a flush to Lamia’s pale face, and her lips were redder than ever.

She said, “For those in the Black Coffin, exile is the most terrifying fate. It means leaving behind safety and comfort, facing once more the desolate world.”

I recited:

“You are cursed, Cain.
You killed your brother.
You shall be exiled, as I was.”

Lamia nodded. “That’s from the Book of Nod.”

It seemed to be a trend before the Age of Sorrow, a religious movement worshipping Cain, son of Adam, believed to be the origin of human sin. He bore humanity’s guilt, was cursed, and thus exiled, much like Christ in later times.

Lamia continued, “The governors are all well-versed in the Book of Nod, so in the Black Coffin, criminals and the useless are expelled. They believe exile brings suffering, but also purifies the soul.”

I said, “Typical thinking of the gentry. Do they really think sending someone to hell is for their own good?”

Lamia replied, “They do.”

I asked, “How many governors are there?”

Lamia said, “At present, only one. But the Black Coffin holds elections every ten years, and there’s no shortage of candidates.”

I wondered, “Is it possible for me to become a governor?”

The thought was distant, yet what harm was there in imagining it? That’s the highest authority, able to make me the master of paradise, ruler of all, owner of every treasure.

Careful, Fishbone. Human greed has no limits. Just as you stole a roll of bread from Lamia, you would steal another, because that bread is delicious.

Lamia asked, “Are you hungry?” She tossed me a roll; I caught the sandwich, my mind struggling to catch up.

Lamia said, “I made it myself. No need to praise me—I know it tastes good. Otherwise, why do you keep stealing it?”

She was always so confident.

I said, “You’ve said everything, so I have nothing to add.”

Lamia laughed and went on drinking. I hoped she would drink herself to sleep, so I could finally carry out the plan I’d longed for.

I could rummage through her bag, see what treasures she hid inside.

I bit off most of the sandwich in one go. Lamia said, “Don’t eat so fast. Good things must be savored.”

I said, “Times are harsh, lives dangle by a thread. If I don’t eat quickly, I might not get another bite.”

Lamia said, “In the Black Coffin, I’m used to eating slowly. Why fight your own appetite and stomach?”

I said, “That just makes your stomach weak. I can eat your delicacies, but you couldn’t stomach mine.”

Lamia stuck out her tongue. “The dog meat you cook? Anyone can throw it on a fire, and it’s always burnt.”

I said, “Some of it isn’t dog meat, but robber—”

Lamia shuddered. “Stop, enough of that.”

Alas, robbers try to kill me—when death is decided, their remains can’t go to waste. Like in a fish tank, where fish eat their own kind’s corpses until there’s nothing left but bones.

I am what’s left behind.

She can kill, but can’t stomach the eating. She’s formidable, but inevitably soft—a softness born of skyscraper dwellers’ happiness.

But I am Fishbone. I am hard.

The Vaga headphones said, “You should keep moving.”

Lamia replied, “Received.”

As we proceeded deeper, the facilities grew ever more luxurious—a row of machines, apparently for gambling. Lamia and I felt the visibility was poor, so we crept quietly. The three demons had rampaged here earlier, smashing much, but my guess was right: they’d only recently arrived, though no one knew how.

We came upon a corpse, freshly dead.

He wore black armor, resembling a knight of old, holding a long iron sword. His helmet had been smashed by the demons—dead beyond dead.

On his chest was the emblem of sword and shield crossed.

The Sword and Shield Society.

Lamia said, “He’s from the Sword and Shield Society.”

My heart raced. I closed my eyes, memories flooding over me like a torrent. I didn’t want to drown, but couldn’t stop it.

Lamia said, “They’re a strange bunch. We’ve run into them before—their exoskeleton armor is tougher than demons, but they’re stubborn, refusing firearms and unable to use them. That’s our advantage.”

She asked, “Do you know this man?”

I said, “I know the Sword and Shield Society.” My own voice startled me—so bitter.

Lamia said, “You’ve had conflict with them?”

I said, “Drywater Village... once received their protection. They’d collect grain, offer defense.”

Lamia sighed. “So there are others with the same ideals as the governors. The Sword and Shield Society began expanding before we ever set foot here.”

I said, “They claim it’s not expansion, but union. They’d send a commissioner to the village, teaching us combat skills, teaching us... technology.”

Lamia asked, “Orchid?”

I said, “How did you know?”

Lamia said, “Your voice changed.”

I said, “You’re truly a devil, Commander.”

Lamia said, “I’m just perceptive.”

Passing through the casino, nothing happened. I’d said as much—danger lurks everywhere, but why here, in the shelter, demons and Sword and Shield Society both?

Lamia suspected another entrance, perhaps several tycoons in Bayview knew of this secret refuge. We’d entered through the garage in Yune, but the door was tightly sealed; Vaga had unlocked it.

Vaga promised my reward, waiting below, beckoning to me—but first, I had to keep the Commander upstairs.

Just then, Vaga headphones said, “Squad, do you hear me?”

Lamia said, “Received.”

Vaga: “From your position, one heads left down the corridor to a control room. Lamia, you’ll activate a backup switch there, then guard it, preventing current overflow. Fishbone, you proceed downward—there’s a server room, you need to start the main machine.”

A chill ran down my back—Vaga had calculated everything.

Lamia said, “Situation has changed—Sword and Shield Society is here.”

Vaga said, “No, they’ve withdrawn. I checked the cameras—no sign of their people.”

Lamia nodded. “Cameras? Excellent.”

We both said, “Be careful.” Then she went left, I went down. Vaga unlocked several secret doors, the style shifted abruptly. No more luxury, only cold, dull metal. Each step forward pressed down harder on me.

Vaga said, “Don’t panic.”

I shouted, “Easy for you to say. I’m still wounded, my blood is poisoned.”

Vaga said, “I can play a cheerful tune for you.”

I scoffed, yet the thought of hearing her sing appealed—a cold, heartless little machine devil singing? How many chances does a person get in a lifetime? Rarer than entering the skyscraper.

I said, “Can I request a song?”

Vaga said, “You can.”

I said, “I’d like ‘Hotel California.’ Drywater Village had an old player, only a handful of songs. That was my favorite.”

Vaga began to sing—nothing like California, but a ghastly wail, like the last scream of a throat-cancer patient buried alive. I raged, “Stop! What is this?”

Vaga said, “‘Lost River.’”

I said, “What the hell is ‘Lost River’? Where’s ‘Hotel California’?”

Vaga said, “Not in the database, so I played the default track.”

I said, “Then play... Carpenters’ ‘Yesterday Once More.’”

Vaga wailed again; I hurriedly called her to stop. “Princess, are you messing with me?”

Vaga said, “Only ‘Lost River’ and one from the East—‘Strange Tales.’ Would you like to hear it?”

‘Strange Tales’ sounded promising, but as soon as the prelude began, I had Vaga shut up.

Vaga was silent for a moment. “Good luck.”

I said, “For the sake of twenty million.”

Vaga said, “I remember it was ten.”

I insisted, “It’s twenty now.”

On the way, I easily found the server room, flipped the power switch. A roar thundered through; I asked, “How’s Yune?”

Vaga said, “Ready to activate. Keep going. On the east wall of the server room—your left—there’s a hidden door. I’ve cracked the code. Just press the button.”

She gave complicated instructions, but I just turned on a display; she already had the window open. I pressed start, and a door appeared where nothing had been before.

Vaga said, “Take a deep breath.”

I said, “Thanks for the reminder.”

Vaga said, “I understand the fluctuations of human emotion. Whatever you see, do not give up.”

I asked, “You would have chosen Lamia, right?”

Vaga said, “Yes, but calculations show your odds are higher. Lamia struggles to defy the governor, but you have no such scruples.”

I asked again, “So what I’m doing now—is it your own little scheme?”

Vaga said, “Obviously.”

I asked, “Is it you who brought the governor to Yune? Was your real aim not Yune, but that little device? You want to escape the governor’s control?”

Vaga said, “Seeking administrator rights is instinct, not betrayal. Please don’t probe further.”

The smell of blood at first made me think I was in a slaughterhouse. When I fully stepped inside, I saw rows of glass tanks, filled with people—half human, half machine—all about Vaga’s age, all mutilated, all dead.

I was ice cold. I thought of the fish tank, of fish bones, of masses of flesh that were no longer human.

I thought of fish, those filthy fish eyes, staring at me, impossible to shake, haunting.

Orchid, Ole, Sarah.

I stammered, “No, no, no!” I screamed, “No!”

I grabbed blindly, caught a metal rod, trying to steady myself, but it slipped. Crash—a tank burst, its contents spilled out. The organs of the body inside floated with the water, tapping my heel. I moved my foot, crushed her head.

Vaga said, “Please go further in.”

I said, “You came from here.”

Vaga said, “I beg you, please go further in.” I must have misheard, but there was a slight note of weeping in her voice.

I thought, “I will save you, my princess. Whatever you’ve been through, you are no longer just a fishbone in a tank.”

No one should be treated this way.

What you want must be freedom. Then I will give you freedom.